meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world

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Counting The Long Days, Tilling The Greens

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Don't Tread On Me.

why We celebrate the losers



Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

what makes a monster (sympathy for the monster)

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Written For My Father Who Isn't Here To Know

And Even Stars Die

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I Feel Fine(r)

Make (of) Me A Snow Angel

Used to Think I Could Fix Them.

Sometimes Love Comes With Electricity

Into The Swirling Sea Of White.

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Boy Restored

The Light Goes On In The Attic (WeAll Have Addictons)

Life's A Candle

Malla Batsick

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Love A Cat

Cuba Libre

Fragile Shell Of Morning

Disappear

A Little Bit of Harlem in Your Life

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Oh woe the womb


(a sleeping prayer)

I wear a tear around my neck
and it is for my Brother
the first son born
but the least favored by his Mother

the womb is a curious thing
it brings forth life
but sometimes the womb doesn't know
it brings forth strife

my Brother sleeps in a truck
a truck that's not His own
He wears His pain as if it were His crown
it has grown into Him as He has grown

oh the womb is a curious thing
if brings forth life
but sometimes the forgetting womb doesn't know
it brings forth strife

my Brother has been struck
numerous blows upon His head
and bad chance and ill luck
have wed themselves unto His stead

oh the womb is a curious thing
if it brings forth life
why is it the precocious womb doesn't know
sometimes it brings forth strife

my Brother cannot conceive of how
He has succumbed to His unkind fate
least beloved of His Mother
not comprehending of why His current state

oh the womb is a fortuitous thing
when it brings forth screaming life
when an unwilling woman, an unhappy Mother
secretively disdains the new small life

my Brother seems flattened and crushed
somehow beyond the willing hands of hope
I've entrusted him to the Creator
perhaps the Big Sky of Love will help Him cope

oh woe the womb, a most fundant being
the omniscient Inventoress of life
when the womb isn't filled with a growing love
a Mother's bitterness transforms the unborn son.

_________________________
this poem came to me to me
in the darkness of my sleep and sorrows

legal copyright for this work/poem by this author/writer
for this site title: Melissa A Howells/Meloo
straight from her Tilt-a-World

November 14, 2016  6:34 am official time and date stamp
written directly to the page

Father wrote a note to the Son, thank you for giving Daddy
just what he wanted...Mother labored for yet again too long--
within another 50 plus hours the son was born--
marked with forceps and crow-dark haired, not red flaxen
as her first daughter. yet both children were of
the same face and temperament...serious ones.





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